Chapter 32 Stevie #2
My Christian: The agent I told you about
I connect the dots in my mind and almost flatline. My pulse revs, blood pumping lava through my veins. Pivoting around, I trail my gaze over to the space he’d been staring at. There are too many people, half of them women.
Me: Which one?
My Christian: Black hair, upper 40s, yellow dress
I spot her instantly—head tipped back with laughter, a cocktail in hand. She looks positively giddy, and all I want to do is tackle her to the ground and claw the smile off her face. Rage bubbles to the surface as I attempt a reply to Lex, nearly dropping the phone.
Me: I’m going to kill her.
My Christian: Please don’t. I just need a minute.
Glancing in the other direction to where Lex paces in front of the restrooms, I watch him thread a hand through his hair, the other wrapped around his phone.
I’m not sure if I should go to him. He’s texting me, which I assume means he doesn’t want to talk. He’s more comfortable writing it down.
But I need confirmation, or I’ll never forgive myself for allowing him to struggle alone.
Me: Do you need me?
I hold my breath and wait for a response, my eyes panning from the screen to him. He stares at my message, rereading it over a dozen times.
Hesitation. Indecision.
Then he replies.
My Christian: Yeah
I run to him.
Tears brimming, I push through clusters of people, my heels clicking across the floor and my heart approaching detonation.
When I reach him, I immediately take his face between my hands and find his eyes. “Hey. Hey…you’re okay.”
His breathing is unsteady, in turmoil. “Sorry. Fuck, I…” He shakes his head, squeezes his eyes shut. “I haven’t seen her since I was seventeen. Since that night. I don’t know why she’s here, why she’s—”
“Shh. She can’t hurt you. Not anymore, not ever.” My palms cradle his cheeks, thumbs dusting over his skin. His whole body is a tightly wound knot, every limb vibrating with tension. “Lex, look at me. Please.”
His eyes slowly open, clouded with fear, with things unhealed. “Stevie…”
“You’re okay. It’s just me,” I whisper, pulling him closer until our foreheads kiss. “It’s only you and me.”
Lex wraps his hands around both of my wrists and squeezes hard, using me as an anchor, his eyes still locked with mine.
“Stay with me,” I murmur, trying to keep him steady and whole. “It’s just us. No one else.”
Sound drowns out. No more music, no laughter or noise. His eyes gradually deglaze, like frost thawing under a warm sun as we tangle, search, and hold. He’s with me, his hands loosening around my wrists, the white of his knuckles softening as some of the tension drains.
Flashbulbs go off in my periphery, but I block it out.
There’s no one else.
Only us.
He releases a breath that beats hot against my lips. “Sorry…”
“Don’t.” Swallowing, I shake my head. “Don’t apologize for this.”
Photographers continue to move around us, lurking in the shadows, snapping photos. I want to throttle every single one of them.
Lex blinks up when a flash goes off, but I redirect his attention back to me.
“Ignore them. We’re just a couple having a moment.
” I trail my hands down his neck, his shoulders, pressing my palms to the planes of his chest as his heart beats briskly beneath his suit jacket. “You’re fine. Everything is fine.”
A quick nod, and he lets go of my wrists. But he doesn’t let me go entirely, moving his hands to my cheeks and clasping gently.
I inhale a sharp breath when his thumb skims my bottom lip.
Swallowing, he drops his eyes to my breasts again as my chest presses against his. I feel his grip on me tighten, fingers sliding through my hair, thumbs burrowing into my cheekbones as he tips my head back.
And when he glances back up, there’s a shift. A deviation in the mood. The tension returns, but it’s different now. Potent, electric, squeezing the air out of me. A fist around my lungs.
My own breathing shudders as he searches my face, a wrinkle forming between his eyes. The room spins. My heart races.
I slide my hands under the lapels of his jacket, my fingers curling into the fabric of his dress shirt. I’m drawing him closer. Or maybe it’s him. He’s invading me, his face lowering, lips parting.
More flashes go off beside us.
His mouth grazes mine.
I can’t breathe.
His eyelids flutter in the beat before our lips press together. My mouth widens while his lingers on my bottom lip, hovering, our breaths staggered and shallow. A whimper escapes me, a little squeak, and the sound seems to do something to him.
Lex cups one hand around the back of my head, inhales what sounds like a stifled moan, then fully slams his lips to mine.
His tongue dives into my mouth.
My legs buckle underneath me, and he wraps his arm around my back, holding me up, tugging me closer.
I drag my hands up his neck until they’re fisting handfuls of his hair, my tongue lashing against his, filling his mouth.
Hot, wet, euphoric, a tangle of need and moans and fireworks.
His hand moves to bracket my throat while the other keeps me from toppling backward, and he angles my face, tasting me deeper.
Our tongues turn dirty and desperate, years’ worth of feeling culminating in a ferocity that has my nails digging into his scalp and my leg lifting, an inherent need for friction.
I feel his tongue leave slashes along the roof of my mouth.
Wetness pools inside my underwear.
Lex groans, the sound sending vibrations all the way down to my toes.
When he breaks away for a breath, his teeth snag my bottom lip with a quick tug. His eyes are half-lidded and glazed over, pupils dilated to ink blots. Then he leans back in and trails his mouth along my jawline, his breathing choppy.
Another whimper slips out when he nicks my jaw with his teeth, his grip tightening in my hair. “Are the cameras still on us?” I croak out, craning my neck to the side.
“Think so.” He kisses a pathway down my neck, his tongue drawing fiery lines along the skin of my throat.
I hold back a filthy moan, sagging in his arms. “You’re really selling this.”
Lex grips my ass and tugs me forward until a steel rod gouges my abdomen.
He’s fully hard.
Holy shit.
He’s really selling this.
Another flashbulb goes off, and this one I notice, glancing to my right with my mouth hanging open, my cheeks stained cherry-red, and my hair in disarray.
It’s just us.
Us, along with the entire world watching.
My leg drops back down to the floor as Lex slowly inches me upright, and I collapse against his chest, still pulling in hard-won breaths.
His forehead falls to the top of my head, his grip on me slackening.
We remain draped against each other for a few more beats before he untangles our limbs and takes a step back.
His lips are puffy, kissed raw. Flush brightens his cheeks, and his hair is a mess, sticking up in every direction. The silken purple tie is crooked, dress shirt half untucked from his waistband.
Lex scrubs a hand over his face, swiping it across his mouth. “I’ll…uh…be right back.”
I watch as he disappears into the men’s bathroom behind me.
The door clicks shut.
And I am in shambles.
***
Ten minutes later, we’re back in the limo, having removed ourselves from the party early.
Lex slides into the back seat next to me, and I have no idea what to do. I don’t know if that was real or all for show.
There were cameras everywhere. People watching.
But my God…nothing has ever felt more tangible and pure.
There’s an ache between my legs, between my ribs. His proximity swallows me whole as he collapses into the seat and tips his head back, eyes closed.
Words evade me. Questions scatter across my mind, but I can’t get my tongue to move, my throat to work. I stare at him beside me as the limo rolls forward.
A minute passes in silence.
Two minutes. Three.
And just when I want to shrivel up and die inside, Lex’s hand slowly raises, reaching across the space between us.
He links our palms. Threads our fingers together.
Squeezes me tight.
My eyes gloss over as the warm, dizzying feeling returns, and I slide closer while simultaneously tugging him to me.
Just like that, he spills across my lap.
I hitch a startled breath when his head gently lands atop my thighs. Our hands unlatch, my arm hesitating midair before carefully lowering and wrapping around his upper body.
A makeshift cocoon.
My opposite hand lifts. I swallow, inhale a deep breath, then sink my fingers into his hair, my nails gliding through the soft strands and massaging his scalp.
Soft music begins to play through the speakers, and I hum along with it. My fingertips sift and skim through his hair, my voice a raspy lullaby.
The tension drains from his body.
His breathing calms.
Not a moment later, he’s asleep.